Under the Cloak
by we-are-pilots
Summary: i'm not good at summaries, but i'll do my best. a oneshot between hermione and dumbledore..not as twisted as it sounds, i promise.] um this is rated for a reason so don't read it if you don't like this sort of thing. please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters**.

Any.

Miss Rowling is a goddess for giving us these great personas to work with and she has been rewarded well for her talent.

enjoy.

Hermione paused as she found herself in front of the stone gargoyle that would lead to Dumbledore's office. Glancing down at the piece of parchment in her hand, she squinted at the tiny, neat handwriting.

_Miss Granger,_

_I would like to speak with you. Come to my office after dinner. The password is "gobstopper"._

_Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore._

Hermione had no idea why he was summoning her to his office. She raked her mind, looking over the past few weeks to see if there was anything she had done wrong that would merit a trip to the headmaster's office. Nothing. She sighed and whispered the password. The gargoyle sprung aside, and she nervously stepped into the stairwell, pausing once more to look back before ascending the staircase.

She knocked lightly on the door and waited for a response. It swung open.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. "Hello, Miss Granger." he said, motioning for her to sit down.

She smiled politely. "Hello. You wanted to see me?"

He nodded at her, then turned away to collect his thoughts. He thought back to the many nights he had spent dreaming of her, dreaming of Hermione Granger, who was beautiful and sophisticated and wise beyond her years.

But how was he to tell her this? How could he confess to a student that his fixation with her was more than something professional, more than knowing her academic potential and trying to secure her a position at the Ministry when the year was through?

He sighed, then turned back to her. His eyes glided slowly over her face, the intelligent hazel eyes, her sculpted cheekbones, and her soft, pillowy lips, a pale rose that stood out on her otherwise golden face. He recalled the mornings he had spent hidden in the back of her bedroom to watch her awaken. He could see her now, the way she always shook her head and batted the air with her fists like a little kitten before sitting up and stumbling out of bed, so fresh and pink and new that it made his heart ache that he couldn't reach out and touch her.

It was wrong. So wrong.

But it wasn't as though it was a student-teacher relationship rooted in lust, like the tawdry affairs that bloomed between perverted old math professors and their naive students. No. It had gone beyond that.

It hadn't been until her fifth year that he had noticed anything. But she had entered the Yule Ball that night and suddenly his heart had stopped. He picked up on the way her auburn curls swished against the small of her back as she danced around the floor with other boys.

Student boys.

Her curves, lush and full and womanly, had rounded out and subtly screamed, _look at me!_ Under the lines of the pale pink chiffon she had worn that night. And he had cursed himself for not being born 30 years earlier.

Dumbledore was no fool. He knew his little fantasies about the scandalously underage beauty couldn't go anywhere, even if he was, in reality, only fifteen years her senior. The truth was, the first Albus Dumbledore has passed away 10 years ago, leaving his son to continue his legacy. He had given his junior a cloak-polyjuice potion that he "wore" during his days at Hogwart's and removed at night, disguising him, wit included, as the older, wiser, Dumbledore. And now he had fallen in love.

He smiled at her, a bittersweet collision of pain and obsession. "I don't always look like this, you know." he told her.

She looked at him, confusion clouding her beautiful eyes. "Headmaster?"

"Albus, please."

Hermione blushed.

He tapped his wand to his forehead and muttered a charm: "_Revealo_!"

And the years fell away.

Suddenly standing before her was a tall man, ripped and gorgeous, who couldn't be a day over 30. In place of the white hair was a thick mane of dark brown satiny locks, and his cheeks were smooth and golden. But the vibrant blue eyes that locked into her own were laughing, and unmistakably Dumbledore's.

"It runs in the family." he explained to her. "I use my old man disguise during the day to keep ahold of the respect of the faculty and student body." he smiled at her.

Hermione's mouth hug open, matching her wide eyes. She stuttered, but could not get a full phrase out. He crossed the room and placed a finger over her lips, then replaced the finger with his own lips.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and there was a split second that she realized the wrongness of what was going on before she surrendered and lost herself in the kiss. And then she wasn't thinking anything at all.

Dumbledore pulled back sheepishly.

"Oh dear. That was highly unprofessional. I apologize."

Hermione shook her head and stood up in front of him, then reached out to kiss him again, and nothing had ever felt so right.

He stroked the sides of her face as the kiss deepened, and Dumbledore gently guided her through the door to his bedchamber, pulling her down on top of him.

She grew breathless and could feel the tingling growing between her legs. Her hands moved down his body and began to unbuckle his belt, never letting her mouth detach itself from his. He cupped her breasts, flipping her over so he was on top.

His fingers, deft and hungry, stroked her nipples through the thin white fabric of her shirt. They grew rigid beneath his touch and he could feel a shudder move through her body.

She was so beautiful.

One by one, he unbuttoned the buttons on the front of her shirt, longing to tear it off her hot little body. He slid it down, off her shoulders, and threw it across the room. He pulled back from the kiss and looked at her hungrily, fingering the white lace of her bra.

Hermione was breathless, flushed and pink, and tiny beads of sweat were beginning to gather on her forehead. She licked her lips and took hold of the back of his head, pulling him towards her. She guided his hands to her back, to the clasp of her bra, and he removed it in one smooth, unified motion. His eyes were hungry as he planted little kisses down her neck, down her collarbone, and onto her chest.

Her breath was growing quicker as he kissed around her nipples, then took one into his mouth, gently sucking at the pale pink mound he held in his mouth.

Hermione gasped.

He sucked harder, and flicked at the other nipple. Her breathing grew faster and faster. She took his hand and guided it down her body, to the zipper of her skirt. He expertly pulled down her skirt and touched the damp cotton of her black underwear, then gently pulled them off her. She grabbed his hand.

"I'm ready." she whispered.

He looked at her, his eyes gliding up and down the length of her body, taking in every inch of creamy, even skin, the way her breast, full and round, stood out and ended in perfect rosy nipples, hard and erect, that he was longing to reach out for again. Her flat, even stomach, and finally, the trembling, beautiful patch of skin between her legs.

He had waited too long.

He nodded, then reached up to pull off his shirt, exposing washboard abs and a v-cut. She instinctively reached out and stroked the smooth, tan skin, her eyes wide.

Fingering the waistband of his boxers, she slid them off him, slowly, and then brought her lips to his in a heated his.

He flipped them over, losing himself in the heat of the moment, and put her on top. He gripped her back and gave each of her breasts a tight squeeze before reaching down and stroking her mound, shifting them so that his rock-hard erection was now pressing into the inside of her thigh.

He stroked her clit, slowly at first, and then faster, moving his finger around the nerve endings and causing Hermione to whimper softly and move against his hand.

He plunged his other finger into her opening and traced circles around the fleshy, damp skin.

Just as she was about to climax, he pulled away and plunged himself inside her.

Hermione bit his neck and moaned with pleasure and he thrust over and over, deeper and deeper inside her. She thrust back and her breasts ground up against his chest with the forceful gyration of hips against hips.

He buried himself inside her, and they flipped over and over in a sweaty tangle of limbs and stark-white sheets. And then Hermione screamed, collapsing on top of him and moments later his seed filled her and he twitched, moaning with pleasure.

Exhausted, they lay, woman on top of man, with his erection still deep inside her, and she sighed.

"I love you." she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

And nuzzling her neck, he whispered it back to her and pulled her into an embrace.

And suddenly, things weren't just right anymore.

They were perfect.

The End.

You like? Please review.

My first lemon, so be nice.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione could remember when she first arrived at Hogwart's. she had been so young and impressionable, and so, so, scared. Nearly scared out of her wits, and that was saying something, because she certainly had plenty of them. She could remember it all so clearly, like it was yesterday, her confused muggle parents watching her depart through the wall on the platform, and, later, her being placed in Gryffindor. she was so new to the wizarding world, and so naïve. She knew it wouldn't be easy fitting in. it never was. She knew her buck teeth and frizzy hair set her apart. She always had. And so at a young age she had come to terms with the fact that most people she happened upon would look down on her or shun her, and built a wall around herself. She buried herself in her studies, knowing her books would never hand out birthday invitations to everyone but her in front of her face. They would never corner her in the girls' primary loos and ask her if her daddy was a bunny until her collar was soaked with tears. She excelled in school because she had to; if you were an insufferable know-it-all, you could tell yourself that that was the reason people didn't want to be around you, even if it wasn't the truth, and deep down, you knew it. Then the letter from hogwart's came.

Her father threw it out, thinking it was junk mail. And then another came, and another, and finally, Dumbledore himself showed up in her living room and gave her incredibly dumbstruck parents a tutorial on the wizarding world. Then he handed them a ticket for the Hogwarts train, brief instructions on how to board, and bid them adieu. But not before he shook little Hermione's hand and told her she was very lucky indeed to be coming to hogwart's, and he was sure she would have a splendid time.

And so, it was with her usual apprehension, but also with hope, that Hermione entered hogwart's school of witchcraft and wizardry. In time, she made friends with Ron and Harry and a few girls in her classes. She began to socialize, and even draw back from her books the slightest bit, but never so much that she was out of her comfort zone. Suddenly, she had a life. She had people she could confide in. she was happy. But she would never forget that Dumbledore was the first person, other than her mum and dad, who was ever truly kind to her. Looking back, she could now pinpoint that moment in her London home as the minute she first started loving Dumbledore. It had started out as a father/daughter sort of love. He had been the one to come and rescue her from such a wretched life in the Muggle world where no one accepted her, and she wanted more than anything to please him and make him proud. He was her hero.

But then she became a prefect. Dumbledore's relationships with the prefects were, of course, closer and more intimate than his with those of the other students. She got to know him on a fabulously personal level, though it was never inappropriate. She knew his hopes, what he had dreamed of as a boy, what he worried about, his childhood. She knew every wrinkle and crevasse of his once-handsome, open face. She could read his expression like a book, and knew what he was thinking just by the glint in his clear blue eyes. They spent hours by the fire in his office, talking about everything, from what career path she wanted to follow to whether she should cut her hair. He was so wonderfully wise, and she trusted him with everything. He was like a father, a tutor, and a best friend all rolled into one. And now, he was also a lover.

She rolled over in her four-poster bed and sighed. She knew it was wrong. Hell, she'd know it before it had ever happened. More than once she had chided herself, knowing it was twisted to entertain ideas about a man his age. But it was never his body she fantasized about. It was always his wit, his intelligence, the youthful sparkle in his eyes. Only now was it his body that she dreamed about.

His secret certainly explained a lot about how well they related to each other. She understood now, after hours of pondering the whole thing, that the _actual _Dumbledore had passed away. She supposed it had been the senior's dying wish that his noble work be carried out uninterrupted by the unfortunate incident of his death. And so, in a desperate plea, he convinced his son to fashion a time capsule sort of spell to keep his appearance fresh, and take on his father's appearance, mannerisms, and job during the day. She also understood that until now, no one in the world had known.

She smiled into her pillow. It was a lot to digest. But hey, she wasn't the top of her year in every class for nothing. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was already 3:00 a.m. just four hours ago her headmaster's member had been inside her. She shocked herself with the blatant way her thoughts spilled forth, but she was also amused and aroused by it. Fancy that, being aroused by your own words. It shocked her even more, though, that it had been so…chill. It was such an American word. But there was no other way to describe it. The sex itself, of course, had been anything but. It was the…execution, if you will, that was. It was as if they had both known it was going to happen, and like puzzle pieces, they had fallen right into place. Just thinking about him, about the whole thing, made her shiver with delight. She closed her eyes and slipped her hand up her nightgown. She had done this only once before, in third year, when she heard some of the older girls in the loos talking about "getting off". she knew it was considered nasty and wrong, but she did it anyway, just so some day she could say she had, if only once. It had been horrible. She hadn't even been able to force her fingertips all the way inside herself. It had hurt so much she cried, and the whole area had been red for a day. But now…now that Albus had cleared the way…at the back of her mind she wondered if he knew he had taken her virginity, but she couldn't give it much thought now. She was too busy exploring her own body, and it was proving so delightful that she had trouble thinking at all. She stroked her clit, shaking with each new wave of pleasure that washed over her. She could feel her own wetness spreading to every part between her legs, and soon her left hand came up to massage her breasts. She was frantic, trying to pleasure every part of herself at once, and almost succeeding. She felt her body's need to be exposed to the air, and she ripped off her nightdress and kicked off the sheets, then returned her hands to their previous engagements. The air hitting her felt glorious, and her need for a climax intensified. Her nipples were hard against her palms and fingertips, and she was breathing so hard she thought her lungs might burst from her rib cage. She was almost there, almost, so close-

"thinking about anyone I know?"

A deep baritone rumbled throatily out at her from across the room. Instinctively she reached to the foot of her bed and pulled her sheets up to conceal her naked body. Then the stranger stepped out of the shadows, and a ray of moonlight fell across the angled panes of his cheekbones.

"Albus," she sighed.

He didn't say anything, only closed the distance between them in two strides and enveloped her waiting mouth in a smoldering kiss. He tugged the sheets away from her body and ripped them completely from the bed. He was wearing only a pair of pajama pants, and within seconds those were gone, discarded next to her nightdress. He worked his tongue in and out of her mouth, bringing forth little kitten-like mews with every new intrusion. Her breasts brushed his hard chest and peaked immediately at his touch. He moved his mouth to her shoulder, kissing the soft skin tenderly. He wanted to memorize every single inch of her smooth, lithe body. He wanted to keep her taste in his mouth for all of eternity. He slid his tongue up and down the curve of her shoulder, then planted a row of little kisses along her collarbone. He paused just above her right breast to see what she would do. She grabbed the back of his head placed her pert rose colored nipple in his open mouth. She gasped. She had never expected anything to feel so good.

He worked the nipple inside his mouth, moving his head up and down, then from side to side, all the while teasing her with his darting tongue. He bit and licked and sucked every part and corner of the taut , dark pink skin until it turned red. Then he turned to her left breast. He nudged her down onto her back and buried his face in the creamy skin. Her breasts were perfection, so soft and firm all at the same time. She was perfect. He suckled at her for a while, biting down softly just to hear her moans. Then he drew back. She looked up at him, eyes heavily lidded with lust, hair fanned out on the pillow around her, lips bruised red and swollen from his kisses. She was so beautiful he wanted to cry.

He ducked his head and kissed his way down from her stomach to her neatly trimmed entrance. He lifted her legs onto his shoulders, shot her a devilish grin, and shoved his tongue into her warmth. She gasped. It was like her entire body was on fire, and she couldn't think of a way to put it out, even if she wanted to. He explored her with a deft tongue and then used that tongue to drag her own juice up to her clit. He licked it. She moaned. He licked at it, sucked it, giving her everything she needed and wanted more than anything. Then he closed his mouth, pulling his lips over his teeth, and, keeping her sensitive nub shielded from his pearly whites, bit down as hard as he dared.

She shattered, and her scream was short, sharp, high-pitched, and music to his ears. She slumped with exhaustion.

He crawled up the length of her bed and lay next to her. Her eyes were wide open and her chest heaved. She tried to speak but couldn't find words. she just lay there, staring at him, licking her lips and trying to catch her breath. Then she surprised him by placing a delicate little hand on his chest. She stroked the light dusting of auburn curls there, and then- _then-_ traced a path down to his erection and took it in her hand. His breath caught in his throat. He just looked at her. She traced those magic fingers up and down its impressive length, always stopping just short of the tip. He groaned. She was driving him mad with desire.

He closed his eyes. "darling, if you don't satisfy me soon, im going to do it myself." he mumbled. She smiled and leaned over to kiss him, her tongue sliding into his mouth. Without breaking the kiss, she suddenly slid her had up his member, sending her thumb skidding across the sensitive tip. He bit her tongue. She giggled into his mouth and worked her hand up and down his beautiful organ. His breathing grew heavy, and just as he was about to cum, she broke the kiss and leaned down to take his cock in her mouth. She sucked and sucked until he yelled her name and filled her mouth with his seed. She crawled up towards him and kissed him, letting him taste himself. He sighed.

She sighed.

And she fell asleep in his arms. The next morning, only his scent and the sweet indentation he had left on the mattress beside her, still warm, were any proof of what had gone on while the other girls in the dorm had slept soundly.


End file.
